Finality
by Queen Blacksun
Summary: After all that has happened, will Eragon still find the strength to be a Rider? Will Arya ever love him? And what of Murtagh? Will he remain loyal to Galbatorix? And what of the third egg? Warning: Contains an OC. [Pen name changed to Queen Blacksun]
1. Chapter 1: The Aftermath

**aDisclaimer: **I don't own Eragon (wah, sob, cry). It all belongs to Christopher Paolini (ALL HAIL THE MASTER!). I only own Lizé (my OC) and this plot. This disclaimer applies to all chapters.

**A/N:** Please review so I'm not wasting my time…

**Full Summary: **After all that has happened, will Eragon still find the strength to be a Rider? Will Arya ever love him? And what of Murtagh? Will he remain loyal to Galbatorix? And what of the third egg?

**Important Note:** MY OC WILL **_NOT_** BECOME A RIDER! Like so many of you, I am getting tired of these "new rider" stories. Instead, someone else will be the new Rider, one of Paolini's characters. But I'm not telling you…(conspiratorial snicker)

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**Chapter 1: The Aftermath **

The scenes from the night before played over and over again in Eragon's mind, waking him from his fitful sleep. Orange sunlight streamed into the tent, announcing daylight's arrival. In the bedroll to his left, Roran tossed and turned restlessly. To his right, Orik lay in a dreamless slumber, his beard still stained with tears.

Then, Saphira's voice echoed in his mind. _Eragon, wake Roran and Orik. Nasuada is asking for you._

_What about Arya?_

_She is waiting with Nasuada. You would do well to hurry. I get the feeling that this is something urgent. _

_All right._ Eragon severed the contact and awaked Roran and Orik. Both got up quickly, with many grumblings and mumblings that were silenced as soon as Eragon told them of Nasuada's request.

After dressing quickly, the three men made their way to Nasuada's tent. Despite it being early morning, the red clouds hovering above the Burning Plains had not dissipated, and darkness still hung heavily over the land.

The guard at the entrance to the tent did not speak, only nodding as he opened the flap and let them in. The Varden's female leader stood before a wooden table, upon which was unrolled a map of Alagaësia. She bore no sign of the injuries that she had suffered in the battle, other then the weariness in her stance. Beside her stood Arya, likewise unmarked. The two women were conversing in hushed tones.

"Lady Nasuada," Eragon spoke, "you asked for us?"

Nasuada and Arya both looked up, but while the elf quickly averted her gaze, Nasuada offered them a warm smile. "Thank you for coming," she said. "We have much to discuss. Orik, what of the dwarves, and of Hrothgar?"

Grief was evident in the dwarf's eyes, but his voice did not waver when he spoke. "The dwarves from other clans will return to their homes today, as will Dûrgrimst Ingeitum. We will entomb Hrothgar in Tronjheim, and, as his heir, I will become the new grimstborith of mine clan. Then the thirteen clan chiefs will choose the new king."

"Thank you, Orik. Now, I have heard that Saphira has offered to restore Isidar Mithrim," said Nasuada, turning now to Eragon. "When do you plan to do this?"

"When I return to Ellesméra," replied Eragon. "I will accompany the dwarves to Farthen Dûr and attend Hrothgar's funeral and pay my respects. While there, Saphira can restore Isidar Mithrim, and after that, continue on to Du Weldenvarden."

"Do you forget your promise, Eragon?" protested Roran. "You vowed to help me track down the Ra'zac and rescue Katrina."

Eragon opened his mouth to answer, but Nasuada raised her hand, commanding silence. "I apologize, Roran, but I cannot allow Eragon to pursue the Ra'zac while his training is incomplete."

Under normal circumstances, Eragon knew Roran would never have spoken as such: "Forgive me, Lady Nasuada, but I cannot allow my cousin to go back on his word!" Roran glared fiercely at Eragon before continuing. "The Ra'zac killed my—our father, and now I find you refuse to avenge him! Poor thanks that would be for all of Garrow's care for you."

"Peace, Roran!" Arya ordered. "Saphira and Eragon's battle skills pale in comparison to the Ra'zac and the lethrblaka…they would be slaughtered within minutes of setting foot in Helgrind, and where would that leave you? That was not meant as a slight," she added, turning her gaze from Roran to Eragon.

Blushing, Eragon closed his mouth.

"How long would this training take?" demanded Roran. "I doubt that the Ra'zac would keep Katrina alive for long."

"A month…two or three at the most," said Arya.

Roran exploded once more. "I hardly think that Katrina would be alive after all that time!" he roared.

"Yes, she will be," replied Nasuada. When Roran cocked an eyebrow at her, she explained, "Don't you see it, Roran? Katrina is bait! The Ra'zac know that she and you are close—"

"—thanks to that bastard of a father of hers," Roran muttered underneath his breath.

"—and that you and Eragon are cousins," finished Nasuada. "Keep Katrina there, _alive_"—she stressed the word—"and they know you will come eventually. And, as Eragon is of your blood, there would be no doubt he would accompany you. And if Eragon were to be captured, or worse, killed, that would spell utter doom for the Varden."

"Do you understand now, Roran-finiarel?" asked Arya.

Roran fell silent for a moment, then said, "I understand."

"Good. Eragon, there is one more thing we need to talk about." Nasuada and Arya exchanged glances, then the former finally spoke. "Elva has told me that you have found a way to remove the spell you cast on her."

"Aye," said Eragon. "I have."

"Do you believe you can remove the spell without causing any harm to Elva?"

"I believe I can."

"Then you will do so right after this meeting. Am I clear?" Albeit unintentionally, Nasuada's tone became sharp and commanding.

Eragon inclined his head. "Of course, my Lady."

"We are well understood, then." Nasuada then turned to Roran. "The Varden praises your efforts and your deeds, Roran. Do you speak for all of your people when you say you wish to join us?"

"I do," replied Roran.

"Then join you shall. At a different time, you and your people might have been presented at a ceremony, for it is rare that we get an entire village of new recruits. Worry not. The men are all aware of your deeds, and none of your people will be mocked as being unworthy to fight."

Roran bowed low. "Thank you, Lady Nasuada."

"It is my pleasure, Roran." Then, finally, she turned to Arya. "Arya Svit-kona, have you any news on who will carry out the mission?"

Arya nodded. "The queen revealed to me some information regarding this before I left Ellesméra, but in all the recent events, I have not had a chance to report you, and for that, I apologize. I was not able to glean a name, for I left in a hurry, but I did find out that the person is from House Miolandra, and is more then suitable for the task."

Eragon and Roran exchanged glances, and both saw that one was just as baffled as the other. Orik, however, seemed to understand what they were talking about.

"I see." Nasuada looked thoughtful for a moment, then removed herself from her stupor. "Eragon, Roran, Orik, thank you for your time. The cook has prepared a bountiful spread of food. But before you eat, Eragon, I wish you to assist Elva."

Roran and Orik bowed and left the tent, followed by Arya, who cast Eragon a fleeting glance that nearly stopped his heart. Just as soon as the flap had closed, it opened again, and in stepped Elva.

"Lady Nasuada," the four-year-old girl said, curtseying.

"Elva," replied Nasuada, nodding at the girl.

The girl's cold violet eyes turned to Eragon. "Am I to understand then, Shadeslayer," she said, "that you are to remove my…_curse_…and I shall be able to live normally again?"

"Aye," said Eragon, suppressing a wince at her too-grown-up tone. "But I must warn you, Elva, that once I remove your foresight, you will once again be reduced to a baby. Your advanced growth is a result of my spell, and if I take away that spell, I also take away your growth. You will remember not what it is like to be a child. You will have to grow up again."

"It matters not, Shadeslayer," murmured Elva. "I just want to be rid of this pain."

"Very well." Eragon knelt before Elva and placed his fingertips on her temples, and reached into the magic at his very core. He then said in the ancient language, "May you live as you did before I blessed you with your curse."

He felt the magic in his body flow from his fingertips and into Elva's body. The pulsating points of bright light sought out the beads of darkness that swept through the child. The points of light and dark battled for a moment, one trying to cleanse Elva's body, the other trying to take over it. Finally, the light won, and the darkness dissipated.

Feeling weary, Eragon removed his hands from Elva's forehead and watched as, slowly, she began to change. She became smaller and smaller, her black hair receding into soft wisps on a smooth head, her limbs becoming less slender and turning into the chubby appendages of an infant. Finally, a small baby lay amongst the nest Elva's dress and cloak made.

Nasuada stepped forward and bent over, picking up the baby Elva and wrapping her in the cloak. She brushed back the dark tufts of hair on her head, and saw that the gedwëy ignasia on her forehead was not removed.

In response to his liege's questioning glance, Eragon answered, "The mark on her forehead was put there by a dragon. I cannot remove it. Fortunately, it will have no undesirable effects. In fact, as what my master, Oromis, tells me, that mark was what enabled Elva to partially resist her urges to aid people in trouble."

"This is good," said Nasuada, smiling slightly. "Elva deserves some luck in her life. You may go, Eragon."

He left Nasuada's tent, and found Roran waiting outside. "I am sorry, Roran," he said at once. "I did not intend to hurt you."

Roran waved the apology away, smiling wanly at his cousin. "Forget it, brother," he said. "It was unfair of me, to put one person's wellbeing above everyone else's here." He gestured vaguely at the encampment.

"There is no fault in that," Eragon said softly. "Everyone else in this world would do the same. I—"

"Eragon!"

Both turned around, and Eragon saw Angela making her way towards them. "Is it true?" the witch demanded. "Did you really lift Elva's curse?"

"Aye Angela, I did." At Roran's questioning gaze, Eragon explained everything about Elva to him, then turned back to Angela. "This is my cousin," he told her, "Roran."

"Ah. The one who killed the Twins." Angela smiled brightly at Roran. "All of the Varden is in your debt, Roran, for getting rid of those traitorous magicians. It also appears I personally am in your debt, for Nasuada tells me that just before you struck them down, their next target was to be me. Had you not come along at the right moment, that would have been the end of Angela the herbalist."

Roran started in surprise at the name. "You're the one Gertrude was talking about!" At Angela's confused look, Roran explained. "When we were in Teirm, our town healer, Gertrude, was talking about wanting to meet an extraordinary herbalist named Angela."

"Well, I'd hate to be rude," said Angela, looking thoroughly amused. "I think I'll go have a chat with Gertrude. I'll see you later, Eragon. It was nice to meet you, Roran." She walked past them, heading for the hastily-erected tents in the east part of the encampment where Nasuada had situated the people from Carvahall.

The cousins continued to walk through the camp, Eragon doing most of the talking. He told Roran of all his travels, and everything that had happened to him. He even told Roran about Angela's prophecy and Solembum's advice.

"Sounds to me like you've got yourself a big problem," said Roran, stroking his chin in a thoughtful manner. "I can see why you'd need a new weapon—I saw that other Rider take yours. But what on earth is the Vault of Souls?"

"I have absolutely no idea," confessed Eragon.

Then Roran grinned. "But moving on to happier matters…an epic romance, eh?"

Eragon's cheeks colored considerably. But he couldn't think of suitable retort, so he settled for, "Shut up, Roran."

The older man chuckled. "Ah, denial is a wonderful thing, is not?" He reached up and ruffled Eragon's hair. "Could your future love possibly be the elf? Correct me if I'm wrong—Arya, was it? Good eye, brother, she certainly is beautiful."

"Aye, she is," Eragon found himself saying before he hastily amended his words. "I mean…I mean…" he sputtered.

"Think nothing of it," said Roran, though his grin had not disappeared. "No harm in admiring beauty, right? Especially if said beauty is destined for a future romance with the admirer."

"Arya and I would never work out," said Eragon firmly, albeit sadly. "She is older and wiser then I, and we both cannot afford to get involved romantically at a time like this."

"True, true," said Roran, nodding, "but think about it. After the war, who's to say that a love between you two cannot be? You have already told me that elves are immortal unless blade or poison takes them, as are Riders. You would each live as long as the other, and in time, you would gain her wisdom."

"But…but…" Eragon did not finish that sentence. Truth be told, he could think of no other reason why he and Arya could not be together. Finally, he came up with one. "She does not return my feelings."

Roran's grin became even wider. "You would think so, Eragon," he said, but when Eragon looked up at him questioningly, Roran refused to say anymore.

* * *

The endless emptiness of the Burning Plains seemed to fly by at a quick pace as Murtagh soared over them, astride Thorn. The red dragon soared in a circle above the camp before landing by a tent on its outskirts, which belonged to his Rider. Murtagh slid off of Thorn's saddle, leaning against the dragon's muscled leg, a weary sigh escaping his lips.

A scream pierced the air, and Murtagh winced. Morning had already come, and still the wounded soldiers, all confined to one tent to avoid infection, would not be silent.

A healer, even younger then Murtagh was, ran out of the infirmary tent and towards him. "Sir," the young man said, "we're running out of medical supplies. Some of us could heal the soldiers with magic, but there's precious little we could do."

_Funny,_ thought Murtagh wryly, _a few months ago, I would have been the one calling people 'sir'._

_Many things have changed, little one,_ said Thorn wisely.

Aware that the healer was still waiting for a response, Murtagh said, "There are more provisions in the storage tent. If that runs out, I'll send messengers to the nearest town to ask for more."

The healer bowed. "Thank you, sir," he said, before turning around and running off.

Murtagh sighed as he watched the healer go before entering his tent and collapsing on the bedroll. _I wonder if the Varden are facing the same dilemmas as we are._ Then his lip curled. _Of course they're not. They have the elf, and my oh-so wonderful brother._

The mere memory of Eragon on the battlefield was enough to stir Murtagh's anger. No, it wasn't Eragon himself that was aggravating; it was the fact that he could read Murtagh so easily. Eragon was right; he hadn't wanted to do this.

_Some Dragon Rider I am,_ he thought bitterly. _I couldn't even complete such a simple task._

Thorn's extended his head into the ten, his long neck snaking in, and stared at Murtagh with a ruby-colored eye. _You are not to be faulted, my friend. The boy was a comrade, and more importantly, he is your brother. No one could look down on you for wanting to show him and his dragon mercy._

_The king could,_ replied Murtagh._ And besides, I didn't want to just show him mercy—I didn't want to confront him in the first place._

_Neither did I. But you swore a vow to the king—_

_One that I intend to see fulfilled,_ a new voice declared in Murtagh's mind.

Thorn tensed and Murtagh froze as both recognized the chilling tones of King Galbatorix. Dragon and Rider exchanged looks before Murtagh answered, _My king, how may I serve you?_ He was somewhat relieved to hear that his voice did not waver.

_You may serve me by telling me why Eragon Shadeslayer is still alive!_ Galbatorix raged. _You swore to me in the ancient language—_

—_that I would face my brother on the battlefield,_ Murtagh said smugly, knowing he would regret it later.

A howl of anger exploded that echoed strongly in Murtagh's mind. _Then pay for your insolence!_

Murtagh barely had time to brace himself before agonizing pain darted into his body. The last wisps of Galbatorix's presence drifted away, along with a parting message: _Enjoy, traitor…_

The pain felt like thousands of knives twisting their way into his skin, spreading from his mind to the rest of his body, all the way down to his toes. But Murtagh would not cry out. He bit down hard on his lower lip to prevent himself from screaming, tasting blood as he did so.

Thorn growled. _Enough!_ he snarled. He wormed his way into Murtagh's mind, stealing him from his body.

_Thank you,_ Murtagh said.

_It is no problem, my friend._ Thorn allowed Murtagh to tap into his eyes, allowing the Rider to see his body, twitching and twisting on the ground.

If Murtagh could wince right now, he knew he would. _Sadistic old man,_ he thought.

_I bet one of my wings he's laughing right now,_ replied Thorn.

Finally, the pain abated and Murtagh rejoined his mind with his body. The first thing he felt was the dull throbbing in his fingertips, then it slowly spread throughout his body. Although the pain wasn't as excruciating as before, it was still enough that Murtagh couldn't move without hurting himself. _Can you help me?_ he asked, looking up at Thorn.

_Of course._ The dragon put his head near Murtagh's head and picked him up by the back of his shirt, his body dangling from like a kitten. Thorn slowly snaked his head out of the tent, and deposited his load onto the bedroll. _Will you feel better in the morning?_

_I suppose so. _

_Good._

_You'd better rest as well. I expect the battle took a lot out of you._

Thorn seemed to take offense at the comment and said, _Excuse me, I am not one of your puny men to tire so easily._

_Aye, you aren't, but you are still younger then I am, _little _one_.

_Little?! I am as big as one of your houses!_

Murtagh smiled and patted Thorn's nose fondly. _You will always be little to me._

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**A/N:** Well? What do you think of it? Please review and let me know! Oh, and once again, I feel the need to reiterate: MY OC WILL **_NOT_** BECOME A RIDER! The new Rider will be a canon character, though I'm not telling you who it is! (snigger, snigger) 


	2. Chapter 2: Hrothgar's Funeral

**A/N:** I feel so loved! I got seven reviews for the first chapter and a Private Message from that says I write as good as Christopher Paolini does! (grins) Thanks for the ego boost! You guys rock:-)

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**Chapter 2: Hrothgar's Funeral **

The journey to Farthen Dûr had taken the better part of a week, considering how large the dwarf army was. At the head of the procession, a company of no less then twenty dwarves bore Hrothgar's body upon their shields. When they arrived, several male dwarves, Orik among them, set about constructing Hrothgar's tomb and hírna. The other dwarf clans remained in Farthen Dûr, though they took no part in the making of the tomb. That task was for those of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum only.

Two days spanned before Hrothgar's interment. During that time, Eragon hardly saw a single smiling face in Farthen Dûr. Even Orik was more morose then usual. As so, he spent most of his time in the library, or in the training field sparring with Arya. The sword he used was from Nasuada's armory, but sadly, it was incomparable to Zar'roc. And although Arya often beat him in these mock fights, twice Eragon was able to get past her defenses. Both times, Arya praised his prowess, making him glow with pride.

Saphira spent most of her time in the chamber where Isidar Mithrim used to be, watching as the dwarves labored to reconstruct it. Occasionally, she lent, talon, wing, or fire where it was needed.

Finally, the day for the funeral came.

Eragon awoke with a start on that day, for a moment forgetting where he was. He stood up, quickly dressing in the same clothes he wore to Ajihad's funeral. Accompanied by Saphira, he made his way to where the procession bearing Hrothgar's body had stopped two days ago.

All the dwarves were already gathered at Tronjheim's north gate, standing before a marble bier. Lying upon it was Hrothgar's body, adorned in his full battle armor. A gold helm adorned with moonstones was on his head, and his other weapons were arranged around him. The bier was carried by seven dwarves, all dressed in black armor.

Eragon and Saphira joined Arya, standing behind the procession. A simple dress, the same shade of black as her hair, adorned her shapely frame. "Why does Hrothgar not bear Volund?" he asked quietly.

"Volund has been locked in a special stone vault," Arya replied, her voice hushed as well. "No one may touch it until a new king is chosen."

"I see." Eragon looked around. "Where is Orik?"

"At the head of the procession." Arya clasped her hands in front and fingered the helm of her sleeve. "As Hrothgar's heir, he will march at the place of honor."

_You know much of dwarf funerals,_ commented Saphira. _Have you ever been to one?_

"Countless times," Arya answered. "When one serves the Varden, it is inevitable that one sees many deaths."

Eragon nodded grimly. He agreed with her.

Suddenly, the sound of a loud drum rang through Tronjheim. _Boom. _As the drum gonged, the procession marched forward. The bass tones continued on as they moved through Tronjheim, passing the crystal graveyard where the remains of Isidar Mithrim lay cracked upon the ground. In the very center, a newly-assembled frame stood, and despite the solemnity of the atmosphere, a few dwarves could not help but smile and cast adoring looks at Saphira.

The procession ended as they marched through an archway ribbed with stalactites. Eragon recognized it as the same archway they had passed through when Ajihad was buried. At the very end of the catacomb was an area, where the kings of the dwarves were interred. Those who bore Hrothgar's body set the marble bier in front of one empty alcove, which had contained the newly-constructed tomb.

Orik stepped forward and made a short speech, praising Hrothgar's deeds and integrity. "He was more then my king," Orik whispered, tears shining on his cheeks as they dripped into his beard. "He was my father."

Somber clapping filled the chamber. Then, Orik said, "I would like to request Eragon Shadeslayer, who Hrothgar honored by choosing him to be a part of our honored clan, to speak."

Though shocked, Eragon hid it well. He made his way through the dwarves, who parted to let him pass. When he reached the front, he stood by Orik, unsure of what to say.

_Speak from your heart, little one,_ advised Saphira.

"No one can say enough that would give Hrothgar the praise he truly deserves," Eragon began gravely. "He was noble, courageous, and proud. He was one of the best people I have ever known. He now joins his ancestors in stone, and may they honor him, as he so rightly deserves. Though I am not of the dwarves, I know he has done more for his race then any other king in history. Rest in peace, King Hrothgar."

More clapping filled the room as Eragon returned to his place. _You did well, little one,_ said Saphira, peering at him with a single sapphire orb.

"Aye," agreed Arya.

"Thank you," replied Eragon, too miserable to enjoy Arya's extol.

Two more dwarves came forward and made speeches about Hrothgar's greatness. They wept openly, tears staining their cheeks and beard.

Twelve dwarves stepped forward and lowered the marble bier into the stone tomb. And as they closed the stone lid over Hrothgar's face, Saphira extended her long neck and opened her mouth, letting out a powerful roar that resonated with sorrow.

Female dwarves began to sing in their haunting voices. Their songs told of kings gone past who would welcome Hrothgar as he joined their ranks. Chants of mourning accompanied the eerie songs as the men joined in, pleading with the gods to care for Hrothgar's soul.

The stone slab closed over Hrothgar, and the dwarf king was no more, forever encased in stone.

* * *

In the great feasting hall of Tronjheim, a long stone table groaned underneath the weight of several tasty dishes and tankards of mead, beer, and ale. Opposite the table, a group of musicians played with harps, lutes, and silver flutes. In the center, dwarves danced and made merry, while in the corner sat others, who were talking, exchanging stories, and drinking and eating.

Eragon sat down on a stone bench, thanking the dwarf woman who handed him a plate filled with cheese, bread, and vegetables, as well as a bowl of mushrooms with gravy and a tankard of cold mead. Saphira, who sat curled up beside the bench, was given a large hunk of meat.

"Would you like some mead as well, O Irontooth?" the dwarf woman asked.

_No thank you,_ Saphira replied, using Eragon as her mouthpiece. When the woman nodded and went away, Saphira spoke to Eragon, _I remember what happened the last time I drank mead._ Her tone was distasteful.

Eragon chuckled. _As long as it's drunk in moderation, I don't think mead will be much of a problem for you._

_No matter. _Saphira tore off a chunk of meat and chewed it carefully. _I wonder if they have any faelnirv here._ The tip of her tail twitched at the thought of the rejuvenating drink.

_I doubt it,_ replied Eragon, smiling.

"Shadeslayer!" a voice called.

Eragon looked up to find another dwarf woman standing before him, who, he guessed, was very young. She had not yet gained the broad curves or the heavyset faces of the older dwarf women he had seen in Tarnag. "Yes?" he asked.

The woman smiled graciously. "Dance with me!" she said. "This is a time for merrymaking, not lurking in the shadows. Come, Argetlam!" With that, she took his hand and pulled him onto the dance floor.

She did not let go of him until he pleaded that he needed rest. Laughing, the woman let him go. He returned to Saphira's side, grabbing his tankard of mead and downing it in one gulp.

_Popular, aren't we?_ asked Saphira amusedly.

_That was just one dance!_

_Well don't look now, little one, because here comes another one._

Sure enough, a human maid approached them, her long blonde hair swaying as she walked. "I am of Dûrgrimst Shrrg, Shadeslayer," she said, curtseying politely.

"But you're human," protested Eragon.

An amused smile curled the woman's cherry-red lips. "As are you," she said, "and yet you bear the mark of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum."

_I didn't know other humans were adopted into dwarf clans,_ said Eragon to Saphira.

_Neither did I._ Saphira's surprise rippled across their bond.

"Orik once mentioned to me that no human has ever been invited into a dwarf clan before me," said Eragon, looking at the woman.

She laughed. "He meant no human has ever been invited into Dûrgrimst Ingeitum," she corrected. "Mine clan is less secretive then yours, Shadeslayer. So, will you dance with me?"

Eragon looked up questioningly at Saphira, who was watching the scene with amusement twinkling in her sapphire eyes. _Go ahead,_ she said, tearing out another chunk of meat with her fangs. _Have fun. You certainly deserve it._

_Thank you. I promise I'll spend some time with you after this._

Saphira hummed contentedly. _All right._

Eragon stepped forward and took the human woman's hand in his. They danced for a while, and when the song ended, Eragon headed back to Saphira, tired and wishing only to rest.

As soon as he had collapsed by Saphira, Arya appeared from the crowd and joined them. "Having fun?" she asked, the corners of her lips twitching.

"Mm," muttered Eragon, leaning against the stone wall. He was far too tired to form coherent sentences.

"May I?" asked Arya, gesturing at the seat next to Eragon. When he nodded, she sat down and looked at him.

_Is there something you need, Arya?_ questioned Saphira. All that was left of her dinner were two large bones, which she was now gnawing.

"No," replied Arya, "but there is little for me to do here, and boredom flows through me. I—"

"Then dance with me," Eragon suddenly interrupted. He was weary, and it felt like his legs could hardly support his weight, but the thought of holding Arya in his arms awoke hidden reserves of strength.

_Eragon, watch your tongue,_ Saphira warned, but he ignored her.

Arya remained silent for a while, then finally, she smiled. "Very well, Eragon," she said, standing. "I will dance with you."

The song that was now being played was a slow melody, and from what Eragon could understand of the Dwarvish being sung, it was about star-crossed lovers who could not be together because of a war. _How ironic,_ he thought, keeping his amusement to himself.

They swayed slowly to the music, Eragon occasionally twirling Arya. A rare smile curled her lips as they danced, and Eragon knew it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

"You are a wonderful dancer, Arya Svit-kona," Eragon murmured.

Arya chuckled. "Thank you, Eragon. You are one, as well."

Neither spoke again, simply enjoying each other's company. Sometime in the middle of the song, Arya rested her head on Eragon's chest, and he thought his heart might explode from beating too fast. He was enveloped in the scent of crushed pine needles, and he reveled in it.

But all good things must come to an end. The song finished, and Eragon and Arya parted. When they returned to Saphira, she inclined her head and said, "Thank you, Eragon-vor."

Eragon raised an eyebrow at the honorific. "Vor?"

"Aye." Arya placed a hand on Eragon's shoulder. "After all, we are friends, are we not?" Without waiting for Eragon's reply, Arya disappeared through the crowd.

As Eragon sat down beside Saphira, leaning his head against her warm belly, he decided the day was not so bad after all.

* * *

**A/N: **(screams) Fluff! Fluff! Fluff! Gah, I really enjoyed writing that scene! It made me fell all tingly and happy! Don't worry people, there will bemore E/A scenes further on. I love that pairing!

On another note, my OC will be introduced in either the next chapter, the chapter after that, or the chapter after _that_. Still not sure. Anyway, please review!


	3. Chapter 3: Galbatorix's Plan

**A/N:** Thanks again, guys, for all the wonderful reviews! I love you all! Thanks to you, I shall once again update!

**Error correction:** In my last chapter, my Author's Note said "…and a Private Message from that says I write as good as Christopher Paolini!" I forgot to mention who that Private Message was from. It's from **Stormstar**. Thank you very much, and sorry that I didn't put your name!

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**Chapter 3: Galbatorix's Plan**

The dark turrets of the palace loomed in the distance, casting an ominous shadow over the city of Urû'baen. Even from the great height Thorn was at, Murtagh had to crane his neck to see the tops of the towers. Surrounding Urû'baen was a wall over a hundred feet high and at least thirty feet thick, with only two huge portcullises on the northern end, which was the main entrance to the city. A walkway atop the wall was patrolled by guards, all armed to the teeth.

_It certainly is an intimidating place,_ thought Murtagh.

Thorn snorted, allowing a little jet of red flame to escape his nostrils. _It doesn't speak of anything but insecurity, my friend. _

_True, but don't let Galbatorix hear you say that._

Then, Murtagh sensed the presence of another mind at the edges of his mental walls. It was one of the surviving magicians from the battle at the Burning Plains._ My lord, we approach the city gates. Will you fly on, or will you march with us?_

Murtagh took a moment to decide before saying, _I will march. _

_Very well, my lord. Do you have any further orders for us? _

_Gather all the information you can from the surviving magicians and then report to me. King Galbatorix will want news of the enemy Rider's prowess in magic._ Murtagh considered his refusal to say Eragon's name, then gave a little shrug and waited for the answer.

_Aye, my lord._ And with that, the other presence faded.

Thorn, having listened to the conversation, dove downwards. He spiraled out of the dark clouds that covered the night sky, dipping low over the marching army. The red dragon hovered ten feet above the ground, allowing Murtagh to jump down before he took off again.

One of the generals came over, astride a roan. He was leading Tornac, Murtagh's horse, behind him. "Hail, Rider!" he called out, saluting Murtagh.

Murtagh inclined his head in response and took the reins from the general before mounting Tornac. "What's with the formality?" he asked as they rode on. "You never felt the need to cry out, 'Hail, Rider!' to me before."

The corners of the general's lips twitched. "If I may say, sir, you were not a Rider before."

Murtagh suppressed the urge to laugh and merely said, "If I wasn't, I suppose my life would be a lot easier. Although I wouldn't trade Thorn for anything in this world." He looked up as a flash of red streaked the sky before disappearing among the clouds.

"Aye," replied the general. "A dragon would make a fine steed."

_Steed?!_ demanded Thorn indignantly. _Let's see how fine a _steed_ I would make when the fire that roars out of my jaws is burning him to a crisp!_

_Peace, Thorn,_ replied Murtagh, amused. _He meant no harm by it. Most humans are uneducated about dragons. Even I thought of your kind as mere animals when I first heard of them. Still, it proves for a certain advantage over enemies who underestimate your intelligence._

Thorn grumbled. _I suppose you have a point. _

A young man astride a white horse rode up to them, bowing in his saddle to Murtagh and the general. "Sir," he said, "I have done as you requested. The surviving magicians all say that the enemy Rider is immensely powerful in his magic, trained in all aspects of it by the elves. They say we have only escaped his attention because we were called away from the battlefield to aid the healers with the injured."

Murtagh snorted. "Weak you are, then, for I was able to—"

"Forgive me, my lord," said the young man. He hesitated for a moment before continuing. "Master Edvil says the only reason you were able to defeat him was that he was tired, and running out of energy."

Murtagh frowned, and the young man flinched. But all he said was, "It seems my training still needs to be completed, then." He turned to the magician. "You may go now."

Looking like he couldn't quite believe that his life was being spared, the magician turned his horse around and rode away.

_This is troubling,_ Murtagh said to Thorn. _After training with the elves for quite some time, it seems my brother has gained their prowess with spell weaving._

_True,_ replied Thorn, _but we still have an advantage. Galbatorix is a mastermind of battle strategies—surely he will come up with a way to circumvent Eragon's powers._

Murtagh fervently hoped that he wouldn't.

Sensing his Rider's thoughts, Thorn said, _It is a matter of survival, my friend._

_I know. It still doesn't make it any easier. _

Finally, the wrought-iron gates of Urû'baen was right in front of them. One of the guards atop the wall's walkway opened the gate, allowing the giant portcullises to slowly swing inwards. With an ominous creaking from the gates, the army began to march forward.

Windows and doors were quickly shut and bolted, while children who were playing on the porches of their houses darted inside. Murtagh paid no heed to this, though some of the soldiers looked down at the ground or gripped their spears or the reins of their horses tighter. Above them, Thorn soared through the sky, a red smudge against the ebony clouds.

Just then, a vast and powerful mind touched Murtagh's, and he knew he beheld the presence of his master. _Yes, Sire?_

The mad king's voice was cold and filled with utter contempt. _Send the men back to their homes. Then meet me in the throne room. We have _much_ to discuss._ With that, Galbatorix broke the contact.

Murtagh shook the last vestiges of the king's mind from his own and contacted Thorn, relaying the message to him. Then, he stopped Tornac, and turned to face the army. "The king bids you all a pleasant night, and wishes you to return your homes."

The men cheered, stamping their feet and banging their spears against their shields. "Hail, Rider!" they cried.

Thorn swooped down from the ground, landing with a loud thump on the ground. Murtagh hoisted himself into the saddle, then Thorn flew off to the palace. The guards standing at the palace gates did not even look up—apparently, they were used to a dragon flying in and out of the palace.

He flew up to an open roof in the palace, big enough for him to fly into. He slowly descended into a huge room, the marble walls hung with black tapestries. Marble met Thorn's ivory claws as he landed, facing a huge throne draped with black silk.

Seated in this throne was a man. His skin was deathly pale, contrasting against his black throne. All his hair had receded from his head, except for a ring of black-and-white fuzz that bordered his tapered ears, much like an elf's. A salt-and-pepper goatee circled his hard mouth, which was curled in a sneer.

"Welcome, O Rider and dragon," he said disdainfully.

This was King Galbatorix.

Murtagh dropped to one knee. "My king," he said, in the most respectful tone he could muster.

Galbatorix looked amusedly at him. "Rise, Rider," he said, "and I would have your dragon pay homage to me as well."

Thorn's ruby eyes narrowed, but he jerked his head in a sort of bow. Galbatorix appeared satisfied, however, and began to speak.

"You are, I am sure, wondering what you are doing here, instead of at the bars of Urû'baen wooing the wenches." When Murtagh did not speak, Galbatorix continued. "I have news of events in Ellesméra."

Murtagh gaped at the king. "How, my lord?"

"Do you not remember the elf-courier, Arya, who was captured?" Galbatorix placed the tips of his fingers together, eyeing Murtagh shrewdly. "This piece of news was the only memory Durza could extract from her."

"Speak then, my king," said Murtagh.

Suddenly, Galbatorix jumped up and shot a bolt of black energy at Murtagh. It hit his stomach, knocking Murtagh to the ground. Thorn roared in protest, rearing up on his hind legs.

"Restrain your dragon, Rider!" shouted Galbatorix. "And I will not have you speak to me in that way! You do not tell me what to do! No one does!"

_Peace, Thorn,_ wheezed Murtagh, struggling to get to his feet. _I am all right._

_No you bloody well are not all right!_ Thorn snarled. _How dare he touch you?! I'll kill him! I'll rip that rat-faced son of a whore to shreds!_

_He'd kill you before you could even take one step!_ retorted Murtagh, now on his knees. _Don't do anything stupid!_

Thorn fell silent for a moment before finally saying, _Very well, little one._ He calmed down and fixed Galbatorix with a ruby eye, but the mad king did not even flinch.

"Now then," said Galbatorix, absolutely no trace of anger in his voice, "listen carefully. In Ellesméra, the queen has been searching for an elf to complete a mission. The elf-courier herself was considered for this task, but she already had another one to complete."

"And what would that mission be, O mighty king?"

"To take the third dragon egg."

Murtagh glanced up and said, "But my king, that is impossible!" _Is it?_

"Aye, I believe so too," continued Galbatorix, "but the elves are cunning and wise, and they will have no doubt have formulated a plan. I have studied every aspect of the castle's defense system, and it is my belief that the elves will only send one thief to take the egg."

"_One_?" Murtagh almost laughed.

"One," repeated Galbatorix. "Unfortunately, I have not yet found out the name of the elf for this job." He leaned back in his throne and said, "I want you stationed in the egg chamber at all times. When the thief comes, follow him. He will lead us either to Surda or to Du Weldenvarden. Gather all the information you can, so I may amass another attack on the Varden."

Murtagh knew this new task of his could only force him to confront his brother again. Hanging his head, he said, "I obey, Your Majesty."

"And Murtagh? When you meet Shadeslayer, you will bring him to Urû'baen."

"I obey, Your Majesty."

"In the ancient language."

Murtagh mentally groaned, but repeated the vow in the ancient language.

Smirking satisfactorily, Galbatorix clasped his hands together and said, "You may go."

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**A/N:** Hey everyone! Sorry about the shortness of this chapter! I promise the next one will be longer.

Anyway, I have a favor to ask all of you. I just got a new pet rat (named Skyflakes—he's so darn cute!) and I have no idea what to feed him! I give him crackers and pieces of bread, and that he eats, but I'm pretty sure I can't keep feeding Skyflakes crackers and bread forever. Do you guys have any idea on what to feed a rat? Any advice would be appreciated!

See you in the next chapter!


	4. Chapter 4: Lizé Of Ellesméra

**A/N:** Hey everyone! Thanks for all the wonderful reviews:-) I'm so sorry for the long wait, and on top of that, this is a pretty short chapter too:-( Don't worry though, I'll make the next chapter extra long!

Oh, and another thing, I want to apologize about the Arya putting her head on Eragon's shoulder thing. That was so OOC! (frowns) I should have just stuck to the dancing…sorry about that! It won't happen again!

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**Chapter 4: Lizé Of Ellesméra **

Eragon had barely been in Ellesméra for a few minutes, having finally reached it after five days of flying, when Islanzadí, beautiful and imposing as always, had dispersed the cheering crowd that greeted his, Arya's, and Saphira's arrival, and swept them off to her chambers in Tialdarí Hall.

The study of Islanzadí's room was elegantly furnished, with a long oak desk cluttered with inks and quills and rolls of parchment. In front of the desk were two oak chairs, where visitors might sit. Across the desk was a large bay window which bore four potted plants, with blossoms of the purest blood-red color. They filled the room with a scent that was quite familiar to him, until Eragon realized in surprise that the scent was of crushed pine needles—Arya's scent.

Islanzadí sat down upon her chair, made of gleaming ivory with satin gold cushions. "Take a seat," she said, waving a hand at the chairs in front of her desk. Eragon and Arya obeyed. For a moment, all was silent. Then the elf queen spoke again.

"Tell me, Shadeslayer, do you like my flowers?"

"I—what?" Eragon was a bit startled. _Surely Islanzadí didn't call me here just to discuss her flowers?_ Acutely aware of the fact that Islanzadí and Arya were both eyeing him with the same probing gaze, he said, "They are beautiful, Your Majesty."

Islanzadí smiled a bit. "These are Feráné…or in your tongue, _desire_. Their scent is different to each person—they will smell exactly like the one the person will love and cherish for life." She paused for a while, then added, "What do you smell, Shadeslayer?"

Arya quickly averted her eyes, as if knowing beforehand that Eragon would seek her out. Nervous, he reached out for Saphira. _What do I tell her?!_ he yelled, panicked, when he found her.

Saphira's answer was simple. _The truth. Or as close to the truth as you can get._

_Some help you are._ After thinking for a while, he finally arrived at an answer.

"I smell the forest," he said simply. That wasn't all that far from the truth, actually. After all, pine needles _were_ part of the forest.

Islanzadí looked amused. "Worry not, Shadeslayer, I will probe no further then that. Now then, to business." She folded her hands together and looked at Arya. "Daughter, I trust you have done all you can to make sure nothing else of this mission is leaked out to the enemy."

Arya's lips thinned, and her eyes grew cold. "Of course, Mother," she said curtly.

If she noticed Arya's clipped tone, Islanzadí paid no heed to it. "Shadeslayer," she began, "I trust you know of the third egg, hidden within the bowels of Galbatorix's castle."

"Aye."

"And do you know what would happen if that third egg were to hatch for Galbatorix's allies?"

Eragon answered quickly. "I would die, for one trained Rider is no match for three."

"Exactly." Islanzadí sighed. "Therefore, it has fallen upon the elves to make sure that this third egg is taken from the castle, and once more ferried between us and the Varden. Without another Rider, we don't stand a chance against the combined forces of Galbatorix and the new traitor Rider."

"Don't tell me…" Eragon's gaze darted from Islanzadí to Arya. "Surely Arya won't—"

"No, Eragon-vor," responded Arya. "Not I. Someone else is to carry out this task." She looked pensive for a moment, then continued. "Her name is Lizé of House Miolandra, and she is an exceptional warrior and skilled in magic. She is well-suited to this task."

"Our business is concluded, Eragon-elda," said Islanzadí. "You and Arya may go."

Arya stood. "Come, Eragon-vor, I will introduce you to Lizé-elda." Then she turned and walked, Eragon following silently behind her.

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When they reached Eragon's quarters, they found Saphira already in her dais, and speaking with an elf. This one was a woman, with waist-length black hair pulled back in a thick braid. A few strands had escaped from the braid, framing hazel eyes. A green tunic clothed her torso, cinched in at the waist with a black cloth belt. Black breeches and black knee-length boots covered her legs and feet. A long sword hung at her hip.

When the elf noticed Eragon and Arya's arrival, she turned and placed her fist on her sternum in the gesture of fealty. She then spoke the customary elf greeting, first saying it to Arya, and then to Eragon.

"Eragon-vor," said Arya, "this is Lizé of House Miolandra. Lizé, Eragon Shadeslayer, the Rider."

Lizé bowed low. "'Tis a pleasure," she said, upon straightening. "I have already had the privilege of meeting your dragon, and I am honored to finally know her Rider."

"The same honor could be said of you, Lizé-elda," said Eragon. "Arya has already informed me of your mission. But I must ask, why you in particular?"

Lizé smiled wryly. "Your dragon already knows, Rider." She bowed again then said, "I apologize, Shadeslayer, for entering your quarters without permission. By your leave, and yours, Arya Svit-kona." She inclined her head to Arya, then left.

"I should go as well, Eragon-vor," said Arya. "I will see you in the morn."

When she had left, Eragon looked at Saphira. _So, why her?_

_Grief besots her, little one,_ replied Saphira._ The empire has taken two of her family—her two brothers, in fact. Their deaths have filled her with a determination to see the empire felled none but those who have personally suffered form them can feel. But I'll say naught else. It would be disrespectful to Lizé-elda._

Eragon's curiosity was not satisfied, but he let it slide. There would be plenty of time for interrogations tomorrow.

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**A/N:** (dodges various sharp objects thrown by readers) I am so very sorry, people! But this is only a filler chapter, leading on to the others! I promise I'll make the next one longer! (gets down on knees) Please don't kill me!

Honestly though, that chapter was such a bitch to write! Ugh...just...ugh...


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